Dog Shit Diva Fit
Every 28 days I wake up and wonder why I feel like shit.
Every 28 days I rummage for feminine hygiene products only to find that after the last 28th day I forgot to buy them. Damn.
Every 28 days I am one angry-ass bitch.
Today is day 28!
I head down to the junk shop and discover that my “area” was thoroughly wrecked. This pissed me off to no end. While usually very territorial in nature, I do not harbor the least bit of imperialist ambition to overtake the junk store. It would be too much work. Rather, all I seek is to have my ten square feet of shelf space left alone. Was it left alone? No it wasn’t. It was trashed.
JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!
That’s how I announced my arrival to work today. And this outburst pretty much sums up my entire day.
4 1/2 hours of men ordering me around like I was their maid:
- Hey lady, I want…
- Hey lady, how much for this?
- HEY WOMAN, I want this and this and this… (pointing to items stowed away on shelves well beyond my reach. Even with a ladder.) I’m goin’ the the ATM. “The manager knows me.” he said. “Yeah, fuck you.” I thought.
4 1/2 hours of me saying “EXCUSE ME?” whenever one of the aforementioned cretins spoke to me in a manner I found disrespectful. I gave them a blank stare until they:
- shut up
- said “please”
- or “thank you”
4 1/2 hours of cursing under my breath while picking up:
- spit balls
- various repulsive items (a wad of chewed gum adhered to a pair of nail clippers was by far my favorite) because I couldn’t take it anymore.
I am the Dog Shit Queen of Greenpoint. In this capacity I preside over all things shitty, be they located in Greenpoint or elsewhere. I am not a receptacle designed to collect piss and shit from the incontinent asses of babies (of all ages). If I was, that would make me a diaper. And a diaper diva I am decidedly not. I care not to be the Maria Callas of crap collecting.
Today I was the receptacle for a number incontinent assholes. I did not like it the least bit, either. If these men want someone to wipe their asses, they should call their mothers. Or a diaper diva. Not me.
Photo Credit: Miss Heather
The above photo is of the bathroom at the junk shop. Here are a few more pix…
Right View: where the garbage can used to be. But its memory remains.